Morning
And if a nightingale soar beyond the clay of self and dwell
in the rose bower of the heart, and in Arabian melodies and sweet Persian tones
recount the mysteries of God—a single word whereof quickeneth anew every
lifeless form and bestoweth the spirit of holiness upon every mouldering
bone—thou wilt behold a thousand claws of envy and a myriad talons of hatred
hunting after Him and striving with all their power to encompass His death.
Yea, to the beetle a sweet fragrance seemeth foul, and to the man sick of a rheum a pleasant perfume availeth naught. Wherefore hath it been said for the guidance of the ignorant:
Cleanse thou the rheum from out thine head
And breathe the breath of God instead. [Rumi]
- Baha’u’llah (‘The Seven Valleys’, revised translation by the Baha’i World Center included in ‘The Call of the Divine Beloved’)